Page 51 of Power Moves
‘Thank god,’ groans Archie, and somehow those words make me feel even more light-headed.
I think I’m losing. Losing control, losing brainpower, definitely losing the New Friends Game. Maybe if he’s not kissing my lips, I can restore cognition. I arch my neck so our mouths part and he moves back to my throat. Immediately,I realise this was a rookie error. The female body has too many erogenous zones.
I will have to manifest success through my words. ‘You’re losing,’ I mutter.
‘This feels a lot like winning.’ His breath is warm against my skin.
‘Nope, nope, nope.’ My eyes are rolling back in pleasure. ‘I am in control.’
Archie exhales a breathy laugh. His hips flex against mine and the realisation crashes into my consciousness:This is more than kissing. This is kissing that leads to SOMETHING.Our bodies are trying to take us to dangerous places, but I can’t bring myself to care. At this present moment, all I can feel is fire and muscle and I don’t want it to end.
He sinks to his knees, his hands gripping me under my untucked blouse, and a burst of exhilaration shoots through me. Trails of kisses are suddenly fluttering across my stomach. His hands wrap around me to find my skirt zipper. I hear the zing of metal. He’s tugging it down, andoh, holy moley. His kisses are getting lower, they’re sub-navel, he’s HMASCohendown there, and this is uncharted territory. Is this winning? Or losing? Does this count as sex? And oh,goodness gracious me, do I even have the time?
‘The unions!’ I yelp. The words whistle out like wisps of steam. Archie pauses, shifts back an inch. I’m flooded with dual waves of relief and devastation. He was doing such a commendable job.
‘I can’t stay,’ I mutter, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back up. My blouse is still untucked and Archie weaves hishands underneath it to hold my waist. My skirt is still loose over my hips.
‘Are we still ending this tomorrow?’ he asks.
Our foreheads are touching so I can’t see Archie’s face, but I can tell from his voice that he’s not smiling. Once again, I’m not sure if I’m winning or losing. My blood feels hot and chaotic, like a magic potion spitting from a cauldron. My cheeks are almost certainly pink and my hair is tousled. I think of the way my back reflexively arched to guide him to my zipper. If Fatima, or Larry or—god forbid—Boss, Nancy or any other MP or journalist saw us emerge from this storeroom together, it wouldn’t look good. In fact, it would look terrible. They’d see the flush of my cheeks and the sparkle in my eyes, and they’d read my horny mind like a book.
‘The game ends tomorrow,’ I confirm. It’s for the best. If it wasn’t for his hands—and his mouth—I wouldn’t be missing the union meeting right now, and therefore committing myself to at least forty minutes of catch-up work. Time is a precious commodity for a hustler like me.
‘Why?’ asks Archie. ‘Why stop?’
I frown. HeknowsI’m using this game to distract him from his election debate preparation, but I still haven’t worked out his end goal. ‘Why do you want to keep going?’ I ask slowly, shifting back to look at him.
Archie stares at me intently, and when I say nothing, he groans and runs his hands through his hair. ‘Why do you think?!’
The frustration in his voice rattles me before the realisation lands like the thud of a freshly axed tree. It’s all about sex.And winning. For him, it always is. I’m not special at all. If I sleep with him, I’ll just be another notch on his bedpost.
For a moment, it shocks me how much this knowledge hurts, like a bruise I’d forgotten about is suddenly being poked at. The only saving grace is that I can use this knowledge. If he wants sex, let him think he can have it.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ I say, retucking my blouse as I head to the door. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise it’ll be worth the wait.’
CHAPTER 22
In objective terms, Thursday was a Very Good Day. Boss was happy with my report on the unions summit, I cooked an excellentcacio e pepe(aka melted cheese on pasta) for dinner, and I also made out with a hot guy in my favourite Lebanese cafe. It doesn’t matter that the aforementioned hot guy is trying to use me for sex; I am using him back! So, as a result, this Friday morning, I am feeling pretty chipper.
People on the train are glancing at me as if I’m deranged because I can’t stop giggling. It’s the memory of yesterday, it’s daydreaming about how I still have time toreallymess with Archie, and it’s also these Google searches. If I get hit by a bus today and they recount my search history … oh, the shame!
I’m currently reading an article titled ‘50 Hot Moves to Seduce Your Guy’. I thought these articles died with fourth-wave feminism, so this one must be a relic from the noughties.
Number 1: Ooze confidence.
Number 2: Initiate eye contact.
Number 3: Dress to impress.
I glance down at my high-waisted black skirt. It’s definitely no match for the red dress, but with all its tiny seams, I’m hoping it’s giving sexy bondage vibes.
The article has other instructions on the seductive potential of a red lip, the importance of executing a well-timed crossing of one’s legs, the benefits of a husky voice (emphysema anyone?), and as I go further down the list, I can’t help but shake with laughter.
Number 36: Go commando and let him know about it.
Number 47: Stick your finger in your mouth and pull it out as if it tastes really good.
Number 49: Lick food off his naked body.
